


The Opposite of Love is Indifference

by brogendered (notmydivision12345)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Modern Era, Pining Enjolras, Pining Grantaire, Slow Burn, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3325616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmydivision12345/pseuds/brogendered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras finds out he has a soul mate. An infuriating soul mate that he can hardly stand. Still, his future partner for life (apparently), Grantaire, joins his social justice club, his friend group, and his life, and just won't leave. Watch the sparks fly in an all-too-literal sense.<br/>A soul bonding au because I have no self-restraint and even less sense of self-preservation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Opposite of Love is Indifference

Enjolras was feeling self-conscious in the arts building, wandering around and trying to find a room with someone in it. He hadn’t realized it would be so empty, or he would have gone recruiting at a different time. Finally he found a room that had the lights on, and he went in without checking the sign on the door.

That was his big mistake, because it was, apparently, the room was where students could draw live undraped models. Ah, well. He would power through it, even if the person who was supervising looked like they was going to choke on their coffee when he walked in. Trying to ignore the muscular, masculine model (nice ass or no), Enjolras said, “Hey everyone, I’m Enjolras; he/him. If you’re interested in justice and equality, and want to help the fight against the tyrannies inherent in our society, join Les Amis. We’re a new student group on campus, and we’re looking for artists much like you all to help us design and create posters to spread the word about our various causes. I have a flyer here,” he waved the papers in his hand, “and anyone who’s interested is welcome to come to the next meeting, even if you don’t want to help with the posters. Our next meeting will be focused on the complex issues created by the concept of ‘soul mates,’ but you can bring up other topics as well. Any questions?”

“Yes,” someone said, and Enjolras almost died. They say that the sensation when you know your soul mate would be just as indescribable as it is unmistakable, and they weren’t wrong. Enjolras just hadn’t ever expected to feel it. It hit him like a lead weight to the face and left him breathless and slightly nauseous. They was saying more, but Enjolras couldn’t understand them in his shock.

The someone in question was, horrifyingly, the nude model. The model hadn’t turned around, but everyone else had put down their pencils or pens to look at him with open interest. Enjolras tried to rally. “I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?”

“Yes,” the model said, still holding their pose. “Can I join even if I point out when you’re wrong?”

Enjolras sniffed and tried to stay calm. This was exactly the type of person that needed education the most, and besides, they were, apparently, soul mates. “I guess, although I’m not sure why you assume that we’re wrong without even listening to our opinions.”

“The idealism, Apollo. It shines out of your face like the rays of the sun. Idealists can’t help but be wrong.”

Enjolras knew there was a snappy come back to that, but his mind was roaring and he couldn’t come up with it. Instead, he just said, “You haven’t seen my face yet.”

The model hadn’t moved until now, but they at that they turned around, and Enjolras, even though he was keeping his eyes solidly above the neck, knew that the model had been designated male at birth, if nothing else. “Anyway, that’s a broad generalization. You have no proof,” he added, lamely.

“I don’t need more proof than your face,” the model said, smirking, but their eyes had swept him from head to foot in a way that made Enjolras feel like he was the naked one.

Enjolras recognized that the whole thing had gone off the rails and it was time to retreat. “Well, I’ll leave some flyers on the desk in case anyone decides to come to a meeting. Thank you for your time!”

“I’ll take it,” the model said, and Enjolras turned back around even though he was sure it was a bad idea.

“Take what?”

The model held out a hand. “I’ll do the posters for your little group. I’m Grantaire. Pleased to meet you.”

Enjolras tried and failed not to make eye contact (his eyes were a dark, muddied blue) when he handed the flyer over, and was relieved that their hands didn’t brush in the process. “Are you an artist yourself? And do you mind telling me your pronouns?”

“He/him, and yes, I am qualified, if that’s what you were wondering. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some modeling to do.” Grantaire winked and Enjolras tried not to actually run away.

“I’ll leave some of these on the desk,” he said vaguely, and tossed the whole stack of flyers down. He was out of the room as fast as he could without looking completely disorganized.

Enjolras had never expected to have a soul mate, but he did. And when he could sense exactly where Grantaire was, even as he walked away and back out into the night air, it was only a confirmation. Even small children knew that when you could feel where someone was, you were linked for life.

It was time to call in reinforcements.

 

“Ohhhhhh my god,” Courfeyrac said as soon as he was in Enjolras’s and Combeferre’s tiny, cramped dorm room. “Are you fucking with me? Don’t let him be fucking with me, please, ‘ferre, my tiny, tiny heart couldn’t take it.”

Combeferre was just going to smile, Enjolras knew, so he was going to glare enough for both of them. “It’s true, I met my soul mate. Before you ask, no, I didn’t tell him.”

Courfeyrac plopped down on the floor by Enjolras’s bed with crossed legs. “Why not?”

Enjolras groaned. “Because I don’t want a soul mate. So I just panicked. Besides, he doesn’t seem like the type to care about justice or equality or anything else I find important.”

“So who is he anyway? Tell me the whole story from the beginning. Don’t leave anything out.”

“Yeah,” Combeferre agreed. “You haven’t told me what happened, either.” She pushed up her glasses so she could look at Enjolras carefully.

“He was the model for the art students I was trying to recruit earlier. When I heard him talk . . . that’s when it clicked. I knew. And now I’m stuck with this damn soul mate that I never wanted. And I saw his dick!”

Courfeyrac looked like he was about to piss himself with glee. “You _saw_ his _dick_? Is he hung like a horse or what? Was he _hot_?”

Enjolras looked at him for a long moment, trying to blink his disapproval, wearing what Jehan laughingly referred to as his “snapping-turtle face.”

“Let’s get back to what’s important,” he said as Courfeyrac calmed down, “which is that my soul mate doesn’t care about anything that I find important.”

Combeferre raised a single eyebrow. “If anyone could convince their soul mate to care about what’s most important, it’s you. Did you talk him into coming to a meeting or did you just leave?”

Enjolras frowned. “I didn’t have to. He decided he was going to do the posters so he’ll be at the next meeting, or at least that’s what I’m assuming.” Enjolras’s frown deepened. “Shit, that’s the meeting where we’re going to talk about soul mates and consent. I’m going to have to lie about this.”

“You could just tell him,” Courfeyrac said like that wasn’t the most ignorant thing he could have said. “What’s the worst thing that he could do, if he knew?”

“He could try to manipulate me,” Enjolras said, watching as his best friends rolled their eyes at his melodrama.

Even Courfeyrac, who was always smiling, looked bemused.“You know most soul mates are connected for a reason, right? Abusive relationships are way, way less common than among the general population. We only know about a few in, like, all of history.”

Enjolras had been aware of that theory, but he pointedly did not reply. There was no real, indisputable _proof_ of any of that.

“And,” Combeferre sounded too amused for Enjolras’s taste, “they say that whoever feels the connection first is destined to help the other. Maybe this is your opportunity to lead him into the light. Maybe he’ll be the real hero in our fight against oppression.”

“I think you’re being too harsh anyway! He volunteered to come, didn’t he?”

“He also asked if he could point out when we were wrong and badmouthed us,” Enjolras said, and Courfeyrac deflated a little under the force of his witheringly angry tone of voice.

Combeferre was undeterred. She ran a hand through his hair comfortingly as he dropped his head down into his hands. “You don’t have to tell him, even if it is the best idea. You could wait until later. Perhaps he’ll be more honest than you when he finds out you’re his soul mate.”

“Don’t start,” Enjolras said, and Courfeyrac snickered. “No, I’m seriously at a loss. I can’t tell him now, anyway; not until I know him and how he’ll react. I don’t know what I’m going to say in the meeting if anyone asks. We can always hope it’s unrequited.”

Enjolras wasn’t about to look up, but he knew that Combeferre and Courfeyrac were exchanging some sort of glance.

“I’m going to go through your concerns one at a time,” Combeferre said, finally, which was what she always did. Enjolras had been almost surprised at how long it had taken her to start. “You don’t want to talk about it at the meeting or lie? So don’t. Don’t bring up whether or not you have a soul mate. Don’t even talk about soul mates on a personal level.”

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac butt in. “If you need examples, neither ‘ferre or me have soul mates, so anything you could have said about yourself could be applied to us.”

When Enjolras didn’t reply with anything other than a sigh from between his fingers, Combeferre continued, “We can talk about that more later if you want. You’re also afraid that you’re not going to be compatible for some reason. You think he’ll be, what? Bad for you? Distracting?”

“I’m afraid he’s going to try to get in the way of things that need to be done.” Enjolras finally lifted his head out of his hands. “I never wanted a soul mate. He’s going to want my attention, maybe my love, and it won’t go well for either of us when he finds out I don’t have time for him.”

“You don’t know him,” Courfeyrac pointed out. “He could be okay. You should hang out with him and see!”

“It’s not like you can’t make time for us or your other friends. You’re certainly a good friend to everyone in the Amis. Your relationship with him doesn’t have to be anything other than an incredibly close friendship for it to fall into some category that he’s been taught to accept as normal. Potentially this could be a good thing, although it’s understandable if you can’t look it at that way yet.”

Enjolras breathed out loudly and plopped his head into Combeferre’s lap, where she started scratching her fingers through his hair. From the floor, Courfeyrac grabbed his bare feet and started to massage them. “It could be a good thing. Maybe. I’m just upset right now and I don’t really want to talk about it anymore. Courf, how was _your_ day?”

Because they were good friends, they let him get away with it.

 

The five days before the meeting, on a Tuesday as always (it was official, though, this year), were fraught with anxiety. It wasn’t even the thought of having to confront Grantaire again, although that was a lot of it.

The problem was that he was always aware of his . . . condition, since Enjolras always knew where Grantaire was. He couldn’t turn it off.

It ached in the back of his mind and made him feel vaguely ill whenever he thought about it, but his mind kept returning to the knowledge, like a tongue returns to empty space where there once a tooth.

The discomfort was at its greatest around noon each day, when Grantaire would wake up – or at least leave his dorm room. Which was on the north side of campus, while Enjolras lived on the south; he wasn’t sure how he felt about knowing where his soul mate lived without knowing anything else so personal about him.

Well, that wasn’t true: Grantaire liked to go to the bar near campus and stay until very late, apparently even during weeknights. He had never gone into a STEM building, at least when Enjolras was awake. And even though they went to the same university, favored the same libraries, and had several overlapping study spots or cafés of choice, Enjolras never had to go out of his way to avoid the man.

Combeferre could have analyzed what he knew already, and Courfeyrac would have been able to figure out who he was friends with and find out more. But he kept what he was learning to himself.

Tuesday morning, he woke up for his 9 am with more fear coiled in his lower intestines than was actually necessary. He didn’t have anything to be afraid of, he told himself. Grantaire would probably not completely ruin the second meeting of the year.

“Grantaire is going to completely ruin this meeting,” he hissed at Courfeyrac as they walked to the Musain from the main humanities library.

“What? Oh, that’s his name? Your, you know –“ Courfeyrac waggled his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Enjolras ground out. Grantaire was close enough to the student activity center that he _could_ get to the meeting on time, but he hadn’t moved significantly in hours. He was probably going to be late.

Courfeyrac tousled his hair. “No need to get worked up about it! You’re the most capable person I know, and you could keep any meeting on track. Anyway, you’ll be able to stop thinking about it soon enough!” His smile was blinding and Enjolras felt reassured despite himself.

Grantaire came crashing through the doors of the room they had been assigned to use just as Enjolras was trying to get everyone’s attention and start the meeting formally.

“Everyone,” he said, “this is Grantaire. He’ll be helping us with the posters for whatever our campaigns are this semester.”

Grantaire waved awkwardly before Éponine snorted loudly and said, “I never thought I’d see you here, of all people.”

“Christ, Ép, didn’t I tell you? He,” Grantaire was waving vaguely at where Enjolras was standing, “came into my modeling session this Thursday and swept me off my feet. I believe in social justice now.” This last part was said with such wide-eyed sincerity that even Enjolras could tell he didn’t mean it.

Everyone else knew that too, judging by the way Bahorel snorted and Éponine was struggling to keep down a smile. “Yo, R, sit with us!” Bossuet called out, patting the seat next to him.

As Grantaire wandered over to him and his two girlfriends with a toothy grin, Enjolras cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention back. “Now that, uh, introductions are over, I’d like to get on with the important things. To recap what we said last week, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and I believe that the issue we should be focusing on during the first month or two is issues of consent in soul mate relationships, as well as reproductive rights and potentially abusive soul mate relationships. Anyone have an opinion about this project that they’d like to share?”

From there the main part of the meeting went as planned, with the group – especially the main core – discussing the exact details of what they would be confronting, and then turning to how they would address it.

That’s where, unfortunately, Grantaire came in.

“Last year I did the designs,” Feuilly was saying to Grantaire when he tuned into that conversation, “so I’d be happy to show you some old ones so you know what people in the group tend to like.”

Grantaire was positioned in a way where Enjolras couldn’t tell if it was him or Feuilly the man was looking at. “Yeah, sure. Hey, can I ask a sensible member of this fine organization like you,” Grantaire was speaking in a stage whisper that got everyone’s attention faster than speaking normally would have, “a silly question?”

Grantaire actually waited until Feuilly nodded, bemused. “What’s the point of trying to argue for a group of people already so privileged? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, trying to combat racism, or something else important?”

“Well,” Feuilly said, struggling to put it delicately.

Even though Enjolras had the utmost respect for Feuilly, he did not have time for delicacy. “Did you even _read_ the flyer I gave you?”

Grantaire’s eyes snapped to his and as he smirked, he said, “Sorry, some of us have other things to do.”

“If you had bothered to _read_ the flyer, we know we’re not the only activist group on campus. Our _mission statement_ , as it appears on the _front_ of the _flyer_ , is to both support the groups already focused on their own issues, including racism, sexism, and transphobia, and to bring attention to issues that don’t currently have an activist group on campus, such as classism, ableism, and the rights of those who are in uncomfortable positions with their soul mates.” As he had been talking, he had stalked steadily towards Grantaire. By the time he finished, he was leaning into his space, standing between his knees.

Grantaire’s facial expression was hard to read. He was sprawled back as far as his seat would allow, his eyes half closed and his lips parted only very slightly. “My god,” he said finally, and Enjolras was pleased to hear a slight strain in his voice. “You’ve converted me! I stand corrected, Apollo. It _is_ good that you’re calling attention to these issues now, when there are more important things at stake.”

Enjolras leaned farther forward, so that Grantaire had to tip his head back a little. “There will always be a group of people that is in larger and greater pain than others. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t pay attention to those who are still being oppressed. Besides, maybe if you took your head out of your own ass, you’d notice that no other group is currently launching any sort of large-scale campaign in the first month of the semester. Not that I should be having to defend the collective group’s choices to you.”

Grantaire jerked forward quickly and smiled with a little too much obvious nastiness when Enjolras started and almost fell backwards.

“Don’t be a dick, R,” Éponine hissed at him as he stood up.

“But Ép,” he said, backing out of the room, “that’s what I do best.” Grantaire pointed as Feuilly. “I’ll text you about the posters. Peace!”

“The meeting isn’t even over yet!” Enjolras yelled to the door that was already closing.

It was only then that Enjolras noticed how shocked – and silent – the rest were. It took a lot to shut everyone up at the same time, but apparently yelling at someone was enough. Courfeyrac, from his position that was half next to Marius and half on top of him, cleared his throat loudly and everyone got back to their conversations.

Feuilly looked at him with concern in her dark, kind eyes. “I don’t think you needed to go off on him like that.”

“Probably not,” Enjolras admitted, “but I just got angry. Because if he isn’t going to take this seriously, why did he even come?”

“I don’t think I seriously have to spell it out for you. I mean, you did see his face when you were yelling at him.” (Later, Jehan would tell him that this is when he started blushing. “I’ve never seen your ears so pink,” ze said, happily.)

Enjolras coughed a little and was exceedingly aware that Grantaire was making a beeline for his dorm room. Knowing where he was ached and was giving Enjolras a pounding migraine.

“Are you okay?” Feuilly asked quietly.

“I’m sorry, I need to go home. I don’t feel very well. Can you make my excuses?”

“Of course.” Feuilly patted his arm as he left the room as quickly as he could without attracting too much attention.

 

“Enj?” Combeferre said when she unlocked their door, about an hour after Enjolras had made it home.

The lights were off and Enjolras was curled in his bed. “Yeah.”

She sighed. From the sound of it, she had sat down on her bed and was taking her shoes off. “What happened back there? Do you want to talk about it?”

Enjolras groaned. “I have the worst headache.”

“Is it because he’s in pain too, or just a regular headache?”

This got Enjolras to sit up. “What do you mean, he’s in pain too?”

Combeferre switched on her lamp so she could look at him. “You know, because you can sense his emotional state and everything.”

“What?”

“You never did pay attention when they talked about soul mates, did you?” Her voice was gentle in its teasing, but she had one eyebrow arched over her glasses. “Part of knowing where your soul mate is is knowing how they’re doing, or if they’re in immediate danger. It’s supposedly so you can protect them.”

“The more you know,” Enjolras mumbled as he sank back into his nest of blankets and pillows. “Could you turn off that light, please?”

She did. “Good to know that you’re polite, even when you’re being really irrational about something that doesn’t have to be as big a deal as you’re making it.”

“That was passive aggressive.” Enjolras was a bit more smug than he should have been, but a victory after a long day was nice.

“I would have called it aggressive-aggressive. Should I have been more explicit in my disapproval?”

“You could be nice about it.”

Combeferre laughed. It was a warm, comfortable sound that made Enjolras feel at home, even if she did follow it by saying, “Courfeyrac is already the enabler friend. You don’t need two. I’ll grant you that we don’t to talk about this right now, but I won’t let you put it off forever.”

“Ah, but you will let me put it off until tomorrow?”

Her smile was almost audible. “I’ll let you put it off until Thursday.”

 

“So,” Combeferre said, not even trying to hide her sass, “how was your week?”

Courfeyrac looked up from his phone, smiled and put it away, finally caving to one of Combeferre’s rules for their weekly lunch date. “Ooh, are we finally talking about _it_ , then?”

They were hiding in Enjolras’s and Combeferre’s room, takeout boxes littering the floor, as Enjolras had had two close shaves with Grantaire the day before, and his room was the only place he could relax.

Well, not relax, exactly. He hadn’t stopped fidgeting since they had gotten into the room.

“Yes,” he said, sounding like there was nothing in the world he wanted to do less.

“Enj, aren’t you supposed to face this head on? We can never tackle our problems unless we examine them closely,” Courfeyrac teased. Both he and Combeferre had far too little pity, in Enjolras’s opinion.

“I hate you both. Have I ever told you how much I hate you specifically, Courf? Because I hate you so much.” Enjolras paused to glare. “Anyway, what is there to talk about?”

“Just how you need to decide what you’re going to do around Grantaire, because shouting at him obviously isn’t going to be good for either of you. Then we can move onto the more interesting subject of my biology class, specifically the cute girl that’s interested in me that’s in it. Also, whatever that happened in Courf’s week we haven’t heard about yet.”

Enjolras was going to look to Courfeyrac for help, but he had a face that was far too serious and Enjolras didn’t even try. “Okay. I can’t do much more than try to keep myself under control. Before you say it, I’m not going to tell him.”

“Why?” Courfeyrac asked, his voice so high pitched it was almost a wail. “Even if he hasn’t reciprocated the soul mate thing quite yet, he’s obviously into you. He’d date you in a second.”

Combeferre reached out to touch him on the knee, already knowing that Courfeyrac had missed the point, but Enjolras opened his mouth first. “I don’t want to date him. I don’t want to have to deal with him at all.”

“That’s not an option,” Combeferre said, as kindly as she could. “You know where he is, and you’ll know if he’s in pain. And,” she trailed off, but Enjolras motioned for her to keep going, “should he die first, which, uh, well, look at his habits. Anyway, you’d feel that, too, and it would be the most painful thing you’ve ever felt. According to the experts.”

Courfeyrac almost choked on his fried rice. “Holy shit, that’s heavy.”

“Heavy indeed. You’re going to have to find a way to handle it, and probably you’re going to have to be in contact to him for the rest of your lives.”

Enjolras looked down into his pad thai until the silence was too unbearable. “Okay. I’ll work on accepting that. Do we have anything else we need to say on the matter?”

“Uh,” Courfeyrac said, “this week one of my professors set fire to a table.”

 

Enjolras avoided Grantaire successfully until the next Tuesday, and even then, he did not make eye contact with Grantaire the whole of the third meeting, no matter how loudly he made comments about the futility of their efforts.

Feuilly put up with him, though, with her infinite and supremely admirable patience. “Wow, that’s so visually stunning,” she said, holding up one of the sketches Grantaire had brought. “I think you should, um, tone down on the mythological content, though.”

“I see what you mean,” Grantaire said, loudly. “I think I’ll just keep it simple and informative, yeah? Nice and graphic.”

Feuilly nodded, and she looked relieved. “Yeah, that would probably be best.”

Grantaire was about to reply, but Jehan snapped hir fingers in his face. “Hey, Enj, normally I’d let you follow your thoughts, but we need you here right now.”

“Huh?” Enjolras said. “Right. Uh, yeah, we should be ready to put up posters by Thursday, which is plenty of time to advertise. And I called Dr. Romilly back and, and she can come and be a part of our panel.”

“Good,” Combeferre said, “that’ll make a nice round five.”

Enjolras sank back into the flow of the conversation he was actually having, no matter how loudly Grantaire was commenting, or laughing, or trading jokes with his friends. He wasn’t angry that Grantaire obviously wasn’t taking the issue or the club seriously. He was concentrating on the tasks at hand, and ready and excited to lead the panel discussion next week.

“Dude, you’re like, shaking with rage,” Éponine said when the meeting had wrapped up. “Your face is the purpleist I’ve ever seen it.”

“That’s not true,” Enjolras hissed. (He only ever turned red, not purple.) He got up to leave because finally, finally it was a reasonable time to escape.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire yelled. “Come decide a bet for us!”

Joly was still smiling, bless her, but she looked strained when she said, through clenched teeth, “Maybe now’s not the time, though. Right, Enjolras?”

“Right,” he said, and he couldn’t understand the emotions flashing across Grantaire’s face.

The location of the other man ached when he left the room, and he popped an aspirin.

 

It was a Friday afternoon, and even though Enjolras had only known Grantaire for two previous Friday afternoons, he knew that it was uncharacteristic of him to be in the library.

Horrifically, Grantaire seemed to be heading upstairs; then he was turning towards the end of the stacks where Enjolras was studying, and he realized that he must be actively seeking him out. There was no other reasonable assumption Enjolras could make.

He hunched over his work and used the few, precious seconds before he was discovered to wonder why he was doing this. Grantaire had already given his final drafts of the posters on Wednesday, through Combeferre, and they had been printed and put up. There was no reason –

“Um,” Grantaire whispered, and even though he knew where the man was at all times, it was still disorienting to feel his warm breath by his ear.

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, trying not to sound angry.

“I wanted to, uh, apologize. For how I’ve behaved.”

“Er. Thanks.” Enjolras knew that was the wrong thing to say. “I think I was a little rude to you as well.” Still the wrong thing to say.

“Okay.” Grantaire obviously didn’t know what to say, either, which was reassuring. “Uh, don’t worry, I don’t, like, stalk you. I asked where you – uh. Well. Yeah. Have a good weekend?”

“Yeah. You too.” Enjolras turned around to get back to his work and after lingering for a second, Grantaire walked away, slower than he had come.

It was time for a mass text. To Joly, Éponine, Bossuet, and Musichetta first: _grantaire came to the library to find me. who told him where i was?_

He didn’t even have to wait that long until he got the reply he was waiting for. From Éponine, in the group chat: _me obvs but i had to ask courf BUT dont blame him bc he didnt know_

Ah. Enjolras knew her well enough that he wouldn’t be able to make her regret any of her actions. And there was no point in getting angry at Courfeyrac. Hopefully Éponine would be able to restrain herself from giving his whereabouts in the future; Enjolras didn’t want to have to break up his semesters of engrained habit.

Their potential – what? truce? – gave him hope, though, that Grantaire would behave himself during the panel discussion on Tuesday.

 

Grantaire was whispering to Joly and Bossuet, and even though they were trying to hold it back, giggles were slipping out. Enjolras wanted to set him on fire.

The panel discussion was going well, with a surprisingly large turnout. People were even sitting on the floor, even though Feuilly had brought in extra folding chairs before she had left for work. The five panelists were knowledgeable, engaging, and even funny. Enjolras had not fucked it up completely so far, even when he deviated from what he had planned out.

The panel was almost over, and Grantaire, lurking in the back, had not yet caused a major problem, but the people around him were looking increasingly annoyed.

And yet Enjolras was angry, and angry enough that Combeferre and Courfeyrac had noticed, although he was pretty sure no one else had.

He tried to give Jehan a significant look when Dr. Tariq was in the middle of a particularly long response, but ze only gave him an unimpressed look. Bahorel responded to his eye-pleading, though, by leading Grantaire out, and Joly followed them both out.

Enjolras nodded his thanks when he came back in, and tried to continue on as normal, but it felt like a prickling itch that he couldn’t quite reach to know that Grantaire was lingering right outside the door.

It was a relief to be able to say, “That’s all the time we have today. Thank you to our excellent audience and especially our wonderful and informative panelists.” There was a swell of applause and Enjolras was able to escape. To the back of the room and his friends, since he still felt he needed to supervise until the room emptied out, but it was nice to get to stop trying to hold it together.

He was still seething with rage.

“Calm down,” Courfeyrac said before he could start a whispered tirade that he could feel building up in the back of his throat. “It’s not a big deal, and no one got seriously annoyed. The event was a success.”

“Right.” Enjolras said, but Combeferre was already rolling her eyes from her spot next to Courfeyrac.

“You’ll calm down soon. We’ll just go home and you can avoid him for a while.” Enjolras wished, but no, Grantaire was still lingering outside.

The last few students trickled out, two of them making eyes at Courfeyrac, who was, predictably, not hiding his admiration. He only broke eye contact when Jehan snapped hir fingers in front of his eyes. “Time to go, lover boy.”

“Uh,” Enjolras said. “I’ll stay behind and clean up.”

“Why?” Combeferre asked, staying behind as the rest rolled their eyes and started to leave.

“He’s, uh,” Enjolras started, but he didn’t get to finish.

Combeferre, instead, grabbed his arm and started pulling. “You can’t avoid him forever,” she said, for once not thinking far enough ahead, because Enjolras could tell by the look on his face that Grantaire had heard what she had said.

“Can’t avoid who?” Grantaire drawled, voice low and almost bitter. “Can’t be talking about little old me.”

Joly, who was hovering at her friend’s side, put a hand on his elbow. “R wanted to apologize for any disturbance he caused.”

Grantaire snorted at the same time Combeferre said, “Oh, Grantaire, don’t worry about it. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“No,” Enjolras cut in (it felt like either Grantaire or him was being handled by the women, and he didn’t know whether to be grateful or angry). “It could have been, though, so I’d thank you to keep your comments to yourself next time.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said, drawing out the syllable, “you’ll thank me?” He took a swig from a flask and Enjolras had to work to keep himself from wincing. “Maybe if you weren’t so damn idealistic I’d keep my criticisms to myself. Maybe if the sun didn’t shine out of your asshole, sweet Apollo.”

The last sentence hadn’t even made sense, and Enjolras was opening his mouth to say just that, but Combeferre nudged his foot and inhaled sharply and even he could tell what that was supposed to mean. _Lay off of him_ , Combeferre’s eyes said when he glanced over. _Don’t be an asshole_.

It was grated Enjolras’s very soul to not engage with Grantaire’s particular brand of bullshit – to demand what his criticism was and then tear it apart, because how dare he? Who did he think he was, to get in the way of a good cause? – but he had to admit that Combeferre probably had it right, at least in this one case. Also, he had a pounding headache.

So instead of yelling, he nodded jerkily and said, “I hope to see you both next meeting,” and let himself follow Combeferre before anyone could say another thing. It was only as he left the building that Enjolras realized he had broken the ‘truce’ or whatever Grantaire had created by apologizing the first time. He could only hope that nothing bad would come of that.

He tried to ignore the dread pooling in his stomach whenever he thought about the next meeting.

**Author's Note:**

> Since I'm pretty sure these end notes follow me at the end of every chapter (specifically to mock me), I'll keep it short on this one.  
> 1\. I'm keeping at the activism either vague or au-specific for now, because while real-world issues are incredibly important, I feel weird and disrespectful including them only tangentially in a fic that's about two boys getting it on. If someone has thoughts on this, though, I'd love to hear them.  
> 2\. I'm probably going to make a list of the rules of the au in the notes of the next chapter. I'm trying to work them in, but I feel like some of the things are hard to refer to explicitly. Also, I need to keep track of them myself.  
> 3\. I haven't read the Brick, so more than half of my ideas about the characters come from fanfic or meta on tumblr. Please let me know when this is so obvious that it hurts.


End file.
